Eternal Washer of the Spotless Laundry
by ReferenceGoddess
Summary: We've seen the show, we know the drill. Henry dies, and he is resurrected in the nearest large body of water, minus his clothing. What the heck happens to his clothing?


Eternal Washer of the Spotless Laundry

You've seen the show, you know the drill - Henry dies and is resurrected in the nearest large body of water, minus his clothing. Where the heck does his clothing go?

_i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i

It was a beautiful fall day in New York City. Abe admired the sunlight pouring through the windows of his shop. And where was Henry, thought Abe. Down in his basement lab, obsessing over the secrets of death and his eternal life. Henry, Abe thought, could obsess later. He headed down the stairs to the lab

He was interrupted by three loud booms. He could see the glassware in Harry's lab bounce.

"Henry ap Peter ap Thomas ab Evan ap Rhys ap Gryffyd, come ye forth!" It was a woman's voice, strong and clear.

Silence, then three more loud booms, like a battering ram on a castle gate.

"Henry ap Peter ap Thomas ab Evan ap Rhys ap Gryffydd, come ye forth!"

Three more booms, louder than before.

"Henry, I think the lady really wants to talk to you."

They ran up the stairs from Harry's lab to the shop. They approached the front door cautiously. It was the same shop door, metal framed with shatter-resistant glass. But the street was now filled with a dense gray fog.

"Henry ap Peter ap Thomas ab Evan ap Rhys ap Gryffydd, come ye forth!" The last word was an unearthly screech that ran up and down Abe's spine.

Abe couldn't take it any more. He yanked open the door, and mist spilled into the shop, swirling around the displays. Most of the passersby ignored the odd goings on, striding purposely past. ("New Yorkers. Bless 'em" thought Abe) No, someone was looking right at them. Abe knew her from the neighborhood business association; Mrs. O'Sullivan who owned the Irish Dance studio on the next block. She froze at the sight of their visitor, crossed herself and dashed across the street.

At first glance, the woman standing on their doorstep seemed reasonably attractive but otherwise unremarkable - and then Abe made the mistake of meeting her eyes. Scary, dark, deep eyes. She gave him a small nod and then focused all of her attention on Henry

"Henry ap Peter, we meet at last," she said in voice that didn't seem quite right to Abe.

Abe glanced at Henry, who was as pale as Abe had ever seen him.

"Gwarch-y-Rhibyn" Henry whispered.

"That's one of my names. Call me what you will, the Baen Sidhe, the Washer by the Ford, the..."

"Hag of the mist," said Henry, still unbelieving.

"Watch who you call a hag, laddie," snapped the woman. "But if you insist on a cultural stereotype, I can oblige you." Her dark hair faded to silver, then gray, then dead white, while her skin wrinkled and her burning eyes sank deeper and deeper into the suddenly ancient face. The two men gaped at her; and then she was again the young woman with a creamy complexion and dark shining hair. "Or not; this is a much better look, don't you think?"

"You're a story, a myth. You can't exist."

"Says the laddie who can't stay dead," she retorted.

"Henry, what is going on?" demanded Abe, but then he paused as he caught up on the conversation. "Wait. Banshee, like the Irish ghost that some sort of death warning?".

"Some people know me as such, yes," she said in that beautiful but not quite human voice.

"Why are you here?" demanded Henry.

"We have long overdue business, you and I," she replied. Abe's heart skipped a beat, and the sudden coldness in his chest threatened to overwhelm him. Was he going to lose Henry at long last?

"I don't think we should be having this conversation out here. You should co..."

Abe yelped, "Are you crazy? Don't invite her in!"

Henry sighed. "She's not a vampire."

The woman shuddered. "Vampires. I hate 'em. Unnatural, disgusting things." The two men looked at her in amazement. She arched one eyebrow at them. "Did you think you were the only unusual being that walks the Earth, Henry? Very conceited of you, I'm thinking."

Abe laughed nervously. "Maybe your're right. We shouldn't be airing our dirty laundry in the street."

She narrowed her eyes. Abe felt a sudden need to flee, far and fast.

"Are you saying my work is substandard?"

Abe swallowed once, and managed to choke out a mumbled, "Sorry."

She spared him one annoyed glance and swept into the store. Henry closed the door and locked it. The men followed the woman to the counter. She threw a white cloth bag onto the surface.

Henry, pale but composed spoke first. "So, are you here for me at last?"

She shook her head.

"I don't gather the dead, I just do their laundry. If you want to know your fate, you can ask 'em. Not that you'll get a straight answer. It's all portents and mysterious warnings with that bunch."

"Answer from whom?" asked Abe.

"The Fates. Stuck up cows, the lot of them."

Right. She knew the Fates. Of course she did. Abe said the next thing that popped into this head.

"Laundry?"

"Weren't you listening, boyo? One of my names is the Washer by the Ford. For two hundred years, Henry's clothes have been dumped on me. With most folks clothing, I wash them, maybe do a bit of mending, and off they go, to the afterlife with their owners. But not Henry's clothes, oh no. They've been building up for two centuries, and I want to be shut of the mess. So here they are."

She upended the sack she had been carrying, and clothes started spilling out. Shirts and pants and coats in dozens of styles, as well as socks and underwear and hats. It was way too many items for the size of the bag. Abe said the first thing that popped into his mind.

"So that bag is a TARDIS?"

She gave him a withering look.

"I've been around a bit longer than that show."

"Er, why did you look for me now?" asked Henry.

"Ha, you died twice in one week, and mighty careless that was of you indeed, and there were these cards in your pockets both times." She flipped out two of the card's for Abe's store. One was swollen and twisted as if it had been soaked in water, and the other was covered by rusty reddish-brown spots.

"I regarded it as a sign, and decided it was time to take the trouble of traveling the ocean. So here I am, here they are," she said as she swept one hand over the pile of clothing, "and now I'll be off. I'm a busy woman."

She turned and walked to the door. She gave a small wave of her hand and Abe could hear the lock snick open.

Abe called after her.

"What will you do now?"

"Well, I have some laundry to drop off in Colorado Springs for another young man who doesn't know how to stay dead, and then I'm heading to Cardiff." She snorted. "Cardiff, now there's a strange town for you." And then she, and the fog, were gone.

"Well, that was weird, even by our standards," said Abe. "But something good will come of it."

"What, knowing that supernatural beings walk the Earth?" asked Henry.

"Oh, yeah, that too."

"Too?"

Abe smiled as he pointed at the pile on the counter.

"Vintage clothing. Very hot. We'll make a mint."

-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-

My husband and I were watching the show, and speculating on what happens to Henry's clothes each time he is reborn. Then it came to me - Celtic folklore, death and laundry. What else could it be? 8-)

As usual, apologies to British readers if my dialogue isn't quite right.


End file.
